The City Bus
by privatepractxce
Summary: Tony and Ziva have never met before until they end up on the same city bus. {Oneshot} /Inspired by Ruth B's song 'Two Poor Kids'/


I sit and stare out the window, the night sky hovers above - dark and uninviting; it's so cold my breath fogs up the glass. If I could be anywhere right now it certainly wouldn't be here. No. I'd like to be at home with a glass of scotch watching Magnum P.I but I had to stay late to write up the case.

I can't remember the last time I rode a city bus, in fact it must have been when I was just a little kid on the way back from boarding school, hauling my suitcase. The memory makes me shudder - my childhood wasn't exactly picture perfect. Instead of dwelling on the many failures of my father I go back to watching my breath fog up the glass.

The bus is lit with lights that are harshly yellow and glare off the windows, it smells musty and like the odours of several different cheap deodorants mixed together. My nose is bombarded and attacked so I decide to open the window to let some fresh air in. I reach up and push but it doesn't budge, I try again pushing harder but nothing happens. Sighing I stand up and push once more as hard as I can, the window jerks open swiftly causing me to loose my balance and whack into the glass pane below it. I grimace and curse my broken down car. "Excuse me?" A voice says from beside me, I slowly push myself away from the pane of glass and turn my head to see who's talking to me.

A woman with long dark hair and striking brown eyes greets me, she is holding my rucksack. The one I had strategically placed on the seat next to me to avoid having to sit next to anyone. Unfortunately some people seem unable to read basic body language and hints, as the woman is now sliding into the spare seat next to me - still clutching my rucksack. "I assume it is okay if I sit here." She smiles at me , I sit back down and ignore her remark to make it clear that it's not.

Without saying anything I reach my hand out for my rucksack but she pulls it away, still smiling. I can tell my luck has just plummeted and that this isn't going to end well. "N C I S" She says, carefully pronouncing each letter - she has a hint of some sort of accent. "What does that stand for?" She is now staring with her head tilted at the letters embroidered on my bag. I shrug my shoulders and furrow my eyebrows, leaning over further to reach it. She pulls her arm back in and hands it to me but she avoids eye contact this time, almost as if I've hurt her feelings or something.

How do I end up in these situations?

Whether I offended her or not doesn't seem to matter any more because I notice that she is now clutching the gold necklace she is wearing and her facial expression tells me she is thinking about something important. Quietly I breathe a sigh of relief and try to shift to look out the window again although it isn't easy with my rucksack on my lap.

Then after only about two minutes of silence my peace is interrupted again. "I did not mean to offend you." She states. "I thought it was polite to make conversation on the bus, at least here in America." I note the lack of contractions in her sentences, and the way she says 'here in America' makes it clear she hasn't been here very long. For some reason I decide to discontinue the 'if I ignore her she'll leave me alone' strategy.

"It stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service." I say slowly. She nods gently.

"Ah." Her reaction puzzles me slightly.

"I'm a fed." I point out.

"Yes I know what it means." She says, almost chuckling. No-one ever knows it means I'm a federal agent; usually I have to explain it over and over again. Which is why I avoid interactions with new people, or at least have been recently.

"You already knew?" I query.

"That it means you are a federal agent or what it stands for?" She pauses. "Both."

My mind starts racing - no-one ever knows what NCIS stands for and if she did why bother asking. the entire situation makes me feel uneasy but I know we are no where near my stop yet. Subconsciously I reach for the concealed weapon at my side, apparently my subconscious isn't very discreet because the woman notices my arm movement.

"Oh no." She says, shaking her head and placing her hand on my shoulder. Usually this would seem threatening but she's tilting her head and smiling as though she finds this entire interaction comical. "Besides." She lifts her leg up and places it on the back of the dirty chair in front of her. Reaching down she slides up the bottom of her trouser leg to reveal a knife. Quickly I swivel in my chair so that my back is to the window and I am looking at the side of her head face on. Clearly noting my a) uncertainty and b) willingness to act she lets go of her trousers and drops her leg before also turning to face me fully. "Relax." She whispers with that smile that is unusually comforting despite the situation. "It is precautionary only." The momentary silence that follows this gives me a second to plan out what I'm going to do when this situation escalates. The one thing I don't plan for is what she says next.

"I'm Mossad."

Everything slows for a second. I know exactly what that means but I don't remember pissing off any Israelis lately. She laughs out loud, and it's a nice sound - I like it. But I'm not sure what she;s laughing at. She throws her head back and her long brown curls fall around her shoulders. "As far as I am aware you have not pissed any Israelis off... at least not any important ones." She smiles wider than before and presumably naturally reaches for her necklace. Sitting next to a potentially fatal threat and I manage to mutter my musings out loud - I mentally Gibbs slap myself. Probie is rubbing off on me, I'm becoming more like McGee everyday. That thought definitely makes me shudder.

"I did not mean to bump into you on this bus." She continues. "Or at all. I only got here this morning, I am on my way to a new apartment." Despite every instinct telling me this situation has diffused itself, I keep my guard up. I have heard about Mossad.

"Oh." I say, pulling on the bottom of my suit jacket and sitting up straight. "Working?" I ask.

"Right now? No. But I am here to work, yes." She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. "I am Ziva." She says. Like the rest of her the name catches my attention straight away. It suits her. "You are...?" I hesitate. For some reason I feel like trusting her - I hope it isn't misplaced.

"Tony." I smile. "If you've just moved here where is your luggage, Ziva?"

"I had a bag of clothes and my car sent ahead." She confirms, noticing the questioning look on my face she shrugs. "I am not very sentimental." I note this point. Independent, non - materialistic and comfortable intimidating strangers. She definitely wasn't joking about being Mossad.

"What do you drive?" I ask, entirely unsure when this turned into a friendly conversation.

"A Mini, I can not wait till I get it here and do not have to ride the bus." This reply makes me chuckle, we clearly have at least one thing in common.

Abruptly the bus comes to a halt. "Oh this is my stop I think." She says, flashing me a smile and standing up. I check the screen.

"Hey it's mine too." She nods her head and I stand up too, throwing my rucksack over my shoulder and following her off the bus. As we step off the cold air hits me and I shiver - Ziva seems unphased. She turns to go left. "Ah." I say, slightly disappointed as I point to the right. She bites her lip.

"It was good speaking to you Tony."

"And you." I say in a deeper voice than planned. "If you ever need anything from NCIS, ask for Tony DiNozzo." I nod and smile at her, she looks even more beautiful as the moonlight hits her and she turns to walk away.


End file.
